


love makes the lightest sound

by 1031



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 00:29:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19120864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1031/pseuds/1031
Summary: David has always hated New Year's Eve.





	love makes the lightest sound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [startswithhope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/startswithhope/gifts).



> For the lovely @startswithhope whose prompt was "how did David and Patrick spend their first New Year's Eve together"...I hope I did it justice, and that you like it. 
> 
> Thanks always to Kara for the beta and hand-holding.

_oh my, my, my,  
it's a big, big, big, world out there  
been looking for something,  
I finally found it right here ___

__

__David has always hated New Year's Eve. He can’t help it, not really, can’t help but compare himself to the flash bang pop of this particular midnight—he’s always thought that’s what he was good at, good for, made for the sparkle and shine and the fizz, something that people liked in certain moments only, something to marvel at until it disappeared from sight—stopped being exciting and bright and new— and then forgotten until it was needed—wanted, desired, again._ _

__No, David’s never liked celebrating the end of the year. But here, in this town, with these people and this man, he’s realized that he’s made of so much more, made to last and shine well beyond a split second boom of light and color and sound. He’s found that he fits just fine in the quiet, in the hush and peace on the ground, in the after, more than he ever did in the sky. Once, he thought he was scared of that fall, of disappearing into the dark but that’s all changed—it’s not the fall that’s terrifying, not when he knows he’ll be caught—has been caught, is caught, safe and secure and whole._ _

__It’s late now, the town long gone sleep quiet and hushed—it’s tucked in and wrapped up, the beginning of a new year having been met with hope and joy— promises and confetti thrown in the air at the strike of midnight, laughter and shouts of well wishes raining back down upon them where they stood, wrapped in each other, arm and arm, smiles pressed against smiles and surrounded by the sounds of family, loud and imperfect and flawless._ _

__It’s dark inside their room, darker still outside, and quiet enough that David feels as though him and Patrick are the only two awake in the world, lying skin to skin and tangled together, curled around one another, their arms and hands and hearts slotting together in a way that never fails to make him settle, make his mind and body thrum with a contentment he didn’t know existed._ _

__The soft light from a lone street lamp shines through the window, painting Patrick’s skin with shadowed fragments of light and he can’t help but to trace them with his fingers, his lips—his nose brushing over skin and muscle and bone, a contradiction of soft and hard and yielding and solidity that all come together to make up this man beside him. He can’t help but to brush gentle touches over his neck and down, until Patrick can feel him all the way through to his chest—into his heart and into his soul and reacts, pulling him up so they’re face to face, smiles drink and love slowed._ _

__David chases that too, knows that he’d chase everything, run away and towards anything so long as Patrick is there too, with him and beside him—he chases that smile, now, tasting champagne and Patrick and home, beginnings and endings and every moment in between fizzing on their tongues, popping and crackling across their bodies and down, into their hearts. David places his lips there, right above that fragile muscle, his favorite part of Patrick—this amazing muscle that he’s been entrusted with, that’s been handed to him with caution and abandon in equal regard, handed to him with such strength and such vulnerability. He holds steady, holding that heartbeat in his mouth, and runs soft, gentle fingers up and down lightly ticklish sides, just to feel that heart beat faster under his lips, the steady one, two, three the only feeling, the only sound that’s ever made perfect sense to him, like a song he was meant to know, meant to learn and hear and fall in love with every day._ _

__Here, alone and warm and slotted together like nothing David’s ever known, he can feel Patrick’s energy crackle just beneath his skin, sparking and reacting to his touch, thrumming like a live-wire—he wants to touch, to taste it, feel it pop and spark along his own flesh. And he does, with love on his hands and promises in his mouth, he touches and revels and chases, his own body reacting in turn—each touch a burn, a mark and a promise and a jolt that echoes through and into both of them, strong and fast and powerful, a shining beacon anchoring them together._ _

__Once, Patrick told him that he shines, that there was no better word for it —both at his best and his worst, he shines so brightly, and illuminates all of those around them— but David couldn’t help but feel that, if that was true, he must shine so brightly that others turn away, unsure, unaccustomed or unwilling to see past the glare. He’s aware enough to know that he uses it to his advantage, to keep other’s at arm’s length, and away, because sometimes, he shines too brightly for even himself. But Patrick, Patrick revels in it—in the glow of David’s presence. Of his eccentric passions, his ridiculousness, his neuroses, his love. Once, Patrick told him that his favorite place in the world was there, next to him, feeling his warmth, wrapping around him like a favorite blanket. And David didn’t know it was possible to feel that kind of comfort, that kind of easy affection, that kind of right he didn’t realize he could have or give or feel so acutely._ _

__And he’s noticed, over the time of days and months and minutes and moments of being with Patrick, that he, too, has orientated himself around his own light. He’s caught in Patrick’s orbit, a force greater than gravity pulling him in and keeping him there. He’s never felt safer than when he’s bathed in that light, never felt more alive, more wanted, more real, more at peace.  
________ _

__“Tell me a secret," he whispers._ _

__It’s the first sound in a while, the world still quiet and calm, waiting with baited breath for the day to begin. There’s a pause, and David’s gotten better at understanding that silence isn’t always bad, that it’s not always a precursor to something bigger, something greater, something worse. He’d never understood before, too afraid that if he didn’t fill the silence with words and things or actions, too afraid that in the silence people would realize that he had nothing to give, not really, besides empty things and too much love._ _

__Patrick though, Patrick makes the stillness okay, makes it comfortable. Now, though, he waits, waits for a new year’s confession._ _

__A thumb slides across his cheekbone:_ _

__“Every word I sing is for you.”_ _

__And his heart clenches, a heat spreading down his chest, because it’s too much, not enough, and it’s a habit to ask:_ _

__“Even the sad ones?”_ _

__David has to close his eyes against the smile directed his way, and he knows, he’s aware enough to realize that he has a habit of hiding his face when he’s feeling too much, either by turning away or looking towards the ceiling or burying his cracked and vulnerable wide upon face in a mountain of pillows. It breaks Patrick’s heart a little, to see him hide away from what he thinks of as only the most basic of truths._ _

__Lips rest briefly against closed eyes, soft and oh so gentle, before pulling away and saying, not whispering, because this secret is too good, too true, to be said in anyway other than out loud, strong and steady._ _

__“There are no sad ones. Not anymore.”_ _

__And something clenches in David, something that screams no and impossible, because history has taught him nothing but the opposite, but Patrick knows these moments by now, knows the signs and can read the quirks of his mouth like others read prayers—and he reaches out, smoothing the line between David’s eyebrows, gently brushes warm, calloused fingers under his eye and down his nose, erasing, for the moment, every no and impossible, every past mistake, replacing them only with yes and of course and absolutely._ _

__“Okay,” David says, eyes open and clear and heart thrown open wide, “okay.”  
________ _

__When the new day finally breaks free and the light presses itself to the glass and into the room, it doesn’t find anything new, doesn’t shine down on something perfect or revelatory, no, it’s rays fall into a room like any other, onto bed like any other, onto unassuming furniture and walls. It takes no notice of the men in the bed, just covers them with its persistent glow._ _

__And David, with eyes still open and a hand cradling the back of Patrick’s head as he lays, sleep warm and drowsy, and curling closer still—an arm thrown over his waist and his forehead resting on his shoulder—David basks in it, in the casual intimacy and how it feels special and wonderous and ordinary all at the same time. He has always hated New Years Eve, but he would celebrate every single one, happily, contentedly, with ease and with heart, knowing that he would get to end the night with, and begin the year with Patrick at his side._ _


End file.
